Dedicated to the fond memory of my father: Gilbert Clifford Sheckells.
May he rest in peace.

ROUTE SIXTY SIX

The hot smoke streams soothingly
around the warriors tongue.
And into the blackened cavities
called lungs.
As it destroys
the once pink flesh...of creativity.

The warrior bows his head
for his maker is not dead.
But.....DISGUISED!
as a member of the band.
That straffs...
the midnight.

This poem has a unique story in that it was written originally in 1993 and only finished in 1995, the year my father died. It is composed of two verses of six stanzas each with exactly sixty six syllables. In its best rendition it is done on a chessboard and of course the chessboard is six by six inches.

Poetry Links II
Darkmoon Poets Online T.S. Eliot
Rudyard Kipling Walt Whitman Dylan Thomas



İOctober 1st, 1995
by Gary J. Sheckells
All Rights Reserved
 

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